021

The hallway was colder than Nico remembered.

He walked fast, past the archways and portraits, past the faint murmur of house staff in the distance, past the echoes of a conversation that had no place in this house. In his chest, something twisted hard, like a wire pulled too tight.

Rafael. Alessio.

He couldn’t unsee it.

Not the way Alessio had looked at him. Not the way Rafael had touched him, as if he was something sacred. There had been no doubt in that room. No misinterpretation. No way to rationalize what he had seen into something innocent.

Nico reached the end of the corridor and leaned against the wall, chest heaving slightly as if he’d run a mile. A wave of nausea crept up the back of his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead.

He wasn’t supposed to know this.

He was the younger brother, the one kept in the shadows when things got ugly. Alessio protected him, always had. From business, from violence, from blood. Even after their fath